


Draw Back Your Bow

by gadgetorious



Category: Star Trek (2009), Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-04
Updated: 2011-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-16 02:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gadgetorious/pseuds/gadgetorious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jim finds out that McCoy is more than just a simple country doctor, he feels the need to hash this out. Much To McCoy's dismay. Cupid!McCoy STXI/Xena x-over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draw Back Your Bow

**Author's Note:**

> So, a friend and I were watching Xena and it was decided that there really wasn't enough Cupid!McCoy fic in the word. It was originally supposed to be a short PWP but then the boys got talking and it was really hard to shut them up. It also sort of developed into an accidental 5 things fic. We'll call it _Five Times McCoy Didn't Want to Talk About It and One Time They Used an Alternate Means of Communication._

In retrospect it was probably too much to hope for that Jim would never find out.

In retrospect it was probably too much to hope that when Jim _did_ inevitably find out, he handle the information like a mature adult.

In retrospect–why the fuck was he in love with this jackass anyway?

 __

oOo

“So, wait a minute here. You’re saying you’re how old?”

“Old, kid. Would you drop it?”

“Well excuse me for being curious! You can’t just tell a guy you’re an _ancient fucking GOD_ and expect him not to have questions.”

“Dammit, Jim. I’m not a god, I’m retired, okay? I’m a doctor.”

There is a moment of silence in which McCoy should be calming down but that’s difficult when you know your nosy best friend is just using it to formulate his next barrage of questions.

“I thought you were married.” Alright, not so much a question as an accusation. Somehow that fails to help lower his blood pressure.

“I _was_ married. For Christ’s sake Jim, I may not have told you everything but at least give me the benefit of the doubt here. I have never lied to you.”

“How am I supposed to know what’s real and what’s not. I’ve been laboring under the illusion that you’re a country doctor from Georgia and now you’re telling me that you fluttered down from Mount Olympus!”

Oh fuck. Here it comes. Ohfuckohfuckohfuck–

“Holy shit. Bones, do you actually have _wings?_ ”

McCoy tightens his jaw and becomes very interested in moving supplies from one medkit to another. Maybe if he ignores the question, Jim will forget he asked. It’s never worked before but he can really only see a few possible outcomes for this line of questioning and none of them are better options than just dropping it right the fuck now.

But this is James T. Kirk and McCoy’s relatively certain the T actually does stand for Trouble, so of course it doesn’t work out that way.

“Seriously, Bones. Don’t tell me you _actually_ have wings.”

“Alright,” he says tightly, “I won’t.”

“Holy–“ Jim’s eyes are huge and blue in his face as he suddenly freezes. “Is that some kind of sacrilege? Should I stop saying that?”

McCoy doesn’t laugh but the tightness floods out of his shoulders and his eyebrow try to mate furiously with his neatly parted hair. “Jim, _seriously?_ ”

Jim smiles at him then and McCoy feels the rest of the tension bleed out of him. He’s looking at him like he knows him again. Like he’s _Bones_ , instead of some pod person who’s done something terrible with his _real_ friend and is doing a piss poor job of acting as a replacement. Thank fuck, because he had _not_ been enjoying that look.

Jim lets out a little laugh as it sinks in that he really just asked his best friend if his profanity was offending him. The friend that teaches him new and colorful ways to insult peoples the universe over on a regular basis.

McCoy finds himself smiling back, which only causes Jim to laugh harder at how surreal this whole conversation is. By the time they’re both wiping the tears from their faces McCoy spares a thought that maybe hysteria isn’t the healthiest reaction Jim could be having either.

oOo

He should have known when Jim clapped him on the shoulder and went back to acting like nothing had changed that it was the calm before the storm. He’d been so glad to be back to normal (or so he thought) he hadn’t wanted to question it.

Man, was he regretting that now.

It was his day off. They got them now and then, even CMOs of incredibly careless Starfleet Captains, and he had grand plans for today. First he was going to laze around in bed, then possibly have breakfast and a shower. That would be followed by some light reading, composing a message to his daughter and then lunch. His afternoon was still open but he hoped to have that penned in by the time he finished reading up on the latest developments in inter-species-transplant technology. Oh, who was he kidding, he was probably going to be reading a romance novel.

Jim shot those plans to hell when he showed up in the middle of lounging in bed, stage three. He was staring at his ceiling, legs hanging off the side of his bed contemplating the merits of an omlette vs. a pastry (since it _was_ his day off) when he heard the door.

He closes his eyes tight at the sunny “Good morning, Bones!”

“G’way, Jim. ‘Msleepin’”

He feels the bed sag next to him and bites back a groan of frustration. He likes spending time with Jim, but he can feel the stare boring into the side of his head and he knows this isn’t just “quality bonding time.” In fact, he’s relatively certain this is going to make the last inquisition look like a walk in the park.

Maybe he could pretend to go back to sleep. Maybe he could _actually_ go back to sleep.

“So,” Jim begins and McCoy makes sure not to hide his annoyance. “I was thinking…”

“That rarely ends well.”

“And I’ve decided I definitely need more information about this whole ‘my best friend was worshipped as a deity’ thing.”

“I assure you, you don’t.”

“See, that’s what I thought at first, too. But then I realized that my bitchy CMO is– _was_ the fucking god of _love_ ,” he corrects when McCoy scowls without ever opening his eyes. It’s a skill, refined over a millennia.

“I mean, you’re the guy who claimed, and I quote, ‘Love is a crock, Jim. It isn’t worth anything and it never lasts.’” Jim’s impression of him is gravelly and nothing short of horrendous. He might have laughed if he didn’t feel like he was being put on trial.

“Well, I suppose I would be in a position to know, now wouldn’t I? Now seriously, Jim, it’s my goddamn day off. Leave me alone before I have to find out which labor laws you’re violating and press charges.”

Jim doesn’t leave. In fact, even without opening his eyes, McCoy thinks he can _hear_ him smiling. Bastard.

“So you said you were married, huh?”

“You know I was.” He’s not volunteering information. It goes against his nature, not to mention he isn’t actually a willing participant in this conversation. It takes Jim a few seconds to catch on though. He seems to be waiting for the full story to come pouring from McCoy’s lips and if that’s the case, he’s got a long fucking wait ahead of him.

“So… was she hot?”

That was… not what he was expecting. Though he probably should have been; this is Jim, after all. His eyes pop open and immediately upon seeing Jim’s shit eating grin he realizes that Jim doesn’t actually care, he’s just trying to pull him into the conversation. Actually, he’d probably still like his question answered, but it wasn’t really why he asked.

“You’re an ass, kid.”

Jim neither confirms nor denies the accusation but his grin grows broader.

“But seriously, explain to me how the god of love ends up a bitter divorcé, because that has _got_ to be a good story.”

“I’m not here for your entertainment, jackass. Go bother Uhura. Actually, don’t. That woman doesn’t deserve you. Go bother Spock.”

“Spock didn’t have temples and statues built in his honor.”

“Are you sure about that? You should go ask him. Right now.” McCoy flops over onto his stomach like that’s that. His feet are still hanging off the edge of his bed and he buries his face in his pillow.

“Did she live on Olympus with you?”

“Who? Uhura? No, she did not,” comes McCoy’s muffled reply.

“You’re a riot, Bones. Your wife.”

McCoy lifts his head just high enough to be heard clearly before collapsing back into his pillow. “Jim, I don’t want to talk about this.”

Jim doesn’t say anything. Eventually the silence is unnerving enough that McCoy glances over his shoulder to where his friend is sitting on his bed, ankles crossed, arms resting on his raised knees. Jim looks almost hurt.

“Jim, if you’re just giving me the hound dog eyes so I’ll take pity on you, you can knock it off right now.”

“Why won’t you tell me?” Shit, he’s not just giving him the kicked puppy look for effect. Despite the obnoxious ‘I’m just curious’ act, Jim is actually disappointed he’s not confiding in him. He probably should have figured that but goddamn it he really doesn’t want to talk about this.

Fuck. He pulls himself up to mirror Jim’s position on the bed, though he is still only wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants while the captain is fully dressed.

“Yeah, Jim. She lived with me.”

“Was she…” Jim doesn’t seem to be sure how to ask his next question so McCoy takes pity on him.

“Hot? Yeah, she was hot. Like you wouldn’t believe.” Jim laughs, though they both know that’s not what he was going to ask this time.

McCoy sobers and glances down at his hands. “Human? Is that what you were going to ask? If she was human?”

Jim nods solemnly.

“She was. At first.”

Obviously Jim is surprised by his answer. Whether he’s surprised to hear that he married a human, or surprised to learn that she’s not a human anymore he doesn’t know. He clears his throat uncomfortably. There is nothing comfortable about this conversation for so many reasons, but even if Jim left now there’s no way McCoy would be able to sleep. Possibly ever again if they don’t get this hashed out.

“What is it you want to know, Jim?”

“What happened?” The teasing tone has gone out of Jim’s voice.

McCoy takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “So many fucking things. Ironically, in the end, I think it was the _lack_ of opposition that ruined it.”

Jim cocks his head, a clear sign for him to go on.

“At first there was so much against us. Her sister was a raving bitch. My mother could win multiple prizes for worst mother-in-law. She was human, I wasn’t. I don’t know, it was hard but it was exciting. And then, eventually it wasn’t anymore. And I think she loved that more than she loved me.”

“Why didn’t you…” Jim starts and stops, looking unsure of himself. “I mean, you could have…”

“No.” McCoy shakes his head. He knows where this is going. “I didn’t want that. I wanted her to love me because she wanted to. You don’t know what that’s like, being able to make someone love you but, Jesus, it’s _empty._ ”

McCoy can’t name the look that passes over Jim’s face but for some reason it makes him uncomfortable.

“I thought that was what you do.”

McCoy just looks at Jim, trying to figure out what it is he’s not saying. “I’m retired,” he reminds him.

“Could you if you wanted to? I mean, you what? Shoot ‘em with your bow?”

McCoy’s eyebrow is dangerously high. “You sound like you’ve got someone in mind, Jim.”

Jim actually blushes a little bit. “But you could, right? If you wanted to?”

McCoy laughs, but it’s a bitter sound. “I couldn’t, Jim. Not even if I wanted to. You seem to think I’ve exaggerated how much the ex got in the divorce.”

Jim’s mouth falls open. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

McCoy’s laughter turns self deprecating. “Oh, I wish I was. She got the house– _my house_ , she got the bow, hell she even got my mother. Though, her she can keep.”

“So… uh… you haven’t been going around shooting anybody then? Like, on the ship?”

“Spit it out, kid. What’re you getting at?”

“Just wondering.”

“Bullshit. Who exactly is it that I’m supposed to have shot?”

If Jim was blushing before he’s in danger of bursting into flame now. Why was he.., oh. McCoy groans, covers his face with his hands and flops back onto his bed.

“Dammit, Jim. I didn’t shoot you. I _wouldn’t_ shoot you.” Violations of trust aside, McCoy had a vested interest in seeing that Jim didn’t fall in love with anyone else. Which had apparently happened anyway. Oh, lord. Please don’t let it be anyone awkward. Like Scotty. Or Keenser.

“That’s… uh… good. Thanks. For you know, not shooting me.”

“Anytime,” McCoy manages drily, face still covered by his hands.

“So, we can forget we ever had this conversation, right?”

“I dunno, Jim. You sure you don’t want to stay and tell me about it? We can braid each other’s hair.”

Jim is up and out of the room almost before he can get his half-assed excuse about checking on the bridge out and McCoy is glad. If there’s one thing he wants to talk about less than his trainwreck of a life story, it’s Jim’s love life–which he has absolutely nothing to do with.

He glances at the terminal on his desk. It’s only 10:45, he can still get in a nap before lunch.

oOo

Over the next few days, Jim remains not so much awkward as confused. He frowns when he sees McCoy, not because he’s not happy to see him, but more like he’s trying to figure him out.

McCoy, of course, ignores it. Inevitable though it may be, he’s not looking forward to “let’s dissect my life, part three” and he’d like to postpone it as long as possible.

Which turns out to be six days. Six days of contemplative looks and uncomfortable silences. It’s gotten to the point that, when it finally does come up again, McCoy is almost glad. Almost.

Three more days and he definitely would have cracked though.

“So, how does that work? If you’re not doing your job, how does anybody fall in love?” Jim finally asks when they get a moment alone in his office.

“I am doing my job. For the last time, I’m a _doctor_.”

“You know what I mean. Does your ex go around shooting people with your love bow?” Jim makes himself comfortable and McCoy should just come to terms with the fact that they’re going to be here until Jim’s curiosity is satisfied. Again.

“Jesus Christ, how do you manage to make a divine instrument sound like a sex toy? Only you, I swear.”

“Is that a yes?”

“No, it’s not a yes. They just do. Love is… out there now. It doesn’t need me. Never really did, I just helped it along.” He waves his hand, apparently a pantomime of helping it along. “People fall in love and figure it out themselves,” he adds dismissively.

There is a brief lull in the conversation and in a moment of insanity, McCoy attempts to fill it. “Besides, I was just the god of erotic love, not romantic love. And that is one thing humans don’t need help with in the modern age of internet pornography.”

He glances up at Jim to find that he has apparently stopped breathing.

“Jim?”

“Erotic love, huh?” Jim says, trying to sound aloof and just coming across as pained.

McCoy smirks. “Back in the day when it was all Hestian virgins and farm animals people needed a bit of inspiration. But nowadays, you guys have it in hand. So to speak.”

Chapel chooses that moment to ring the door chime, which is just as well because Jim is almost purple.

When he calls for Chapel to enter, Jim almost runs her down on that way out and McCoy decides then and there that maybe these conversations aren't so bad. In fact, they get more fun every time.

oOo

Jim avoided him all of the next day. And the one after that. On the third day McCoy decides that it’s getting ridiculous and when Jim comes back from wherever he’d been hiding out to eat his dinner, McCoy is waiting for him.

In the dark.

Jim nearly jumps out of his skin when he turns the lights on to find McCoy sitting at his desk, arms crossed across his chest.

“Jesus Christ, man. Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack? I thought the Hippocratic oath meant you couldn’t do shit like that.” Jim pauses as a thought strikes him. “Did you actually know Hippocrates?”

“We never met,” McCoy replies drily, covering his amusement with his annoyance at having to hunt Jim down, the twerp.

“Huh. Pity.”

“I got over it.”

“Soooo…” Jim looks at him expectantly. Apparently he expects McCoy to get this show on the road.

“Hadn’t seen you in a few days. Just doing my job and making sure you’re still breathing. You weren’t looking so good last time I saw you.”

Jim averts his eyes and turns pink again. Two weeks ago he didn’t even know Jim Kirk _could_ blush but look at him now. McCoy finds himself smothering a smirk.

Jim clears his throat and turns back to face him. “Yeah. Something I ate I think.” Jim lies unrepentantly, giving him a small, self-deprecating smile.

“You should have let Chapel take a look at you at least.”

“Yeah, well. Next time.” His cheeks are still pink and McCoy can’t help but think that he’s spending too much time with Chekov. But that’s about when the Jim Kirk he knows so well reappears and he drags another chair over to the desk and straddles the back.

“So, tell me, Bones. If you’re not the god of romantic love, who is?”

“That would be my mother. Ironically.” McCoy mutters.

“Ironically?”

“She, uh, was rather unhappily married. And she made sure everyone knew it.” McCoy really doesn’t know why he’s telling Jim all this but once he’d started unburdening himself he doesn’t seem to be able to stop. It’s both terrifying and freeing at the same time.

Jim looks sympathetic but not pitying. But then, McCoy figures if anybody knows something about fucked up parental situations, it’s Jim.

“You get on okay with your dad?” Jim asks hesitantly, like he’s not sure he should.

“Okay, I guess, all things considered. Don’t really know the guy that well, what with him not being my mom’s husband and all.” Oh for the love of…. This shit just keeps coming out his mouth.

Jim’s eyebrows climb steadily up his forehead and he just nods, not sure what to say, no doubt.

But McCoy’s sudden case of logorrhea showed no signs of going away anytime soon. “They’re both kind of pricks, actually. And entirely too serious for their own good.”

“But your dad’s a… uh…”

“God? Yeah. Of war of all things.” McCoy leans his chair back on two legs and tips his head back. “Honestly, man, I’m a lover not a fighter.” Jim’s snort of laughter brings a smile to his face.

It’s probably a sign of something that Jim doesn’t turn that into some sort dirty joke. Whatever. McCoy still can’t believe he’s telling Jim this. He really should stop, but it’s just so therapeutic.

“What was that like? Growing up among gods?”

McCoy rolls his eyes. “You ever watch a Betazoid soap opera?”

Jim winces. “Yeah.”

“WORSE.”

They laugh at that and they settle into silence. More comfortable this time than it’s been since this whole thing exploded into a hot mess.

He had missed this.

oOo

 

For four days after that it’s like nothing ever changed. The tense, uncomfortable silences are replaced with companionable ones. The speculative looks are replaced with friendly smiles and McCoy allows himself to relax.

Thank fuck _that’s_ over. It’s nice having everything back to normal.

Until he gets back to his quarters after his shift, looking forward to a shower and a change of clothes, to find Jim sprawled across his chair with his good brandy out on the table.

“Jim?”

“Oh hey, Bones.” Jim lifts his glass in a lazy salute. Apparently he’d gotten started without him. This does not bode well.

Never one to turn down a good drink – particularly if it means someone else will drink all of his alcohol alone – McCoy pours himself a glass, but his wary eyes never leave Jim’s face.

“Something on your mind, kid?”

Jim chuckles and the sound is a better indication that his slumped posture of how much he’s had already. A bit, if McCoy doesn’t miss his guess.

“Today sucks.”

“Oh?”

“You know what today is?”

“Thursday?”

“No,” Jim says. “Wait, yes.”

“Fill me in here.”

“Today is the anniversary of the day I joined Starfleet.”

“And that sucks why? I seem to recall this being cause for celebration in the past. Something about ‘Federation hotties’ and you disappearing for days at a time, only to show up just in time for some class or another, looking thoroughly pleased with yourself.”

Jim smiles fondly at the memories and then his expression sobers. “But Bones, that was the academy. Now I am a responsible starship captain with… responsibilities.”

McCoy bites his tongue.

“I don’t want Federation hotties.” McCoy bites harder. “I want… I don’t even know what I want,” Jim sighs. “I just know that it’s been four years and I don’t have it.”

Okay, McCoy’s spent the last several weeks periodically spilling his metaphorical guts to the guy, the least he can do is now is listen. He kicks Jim’s feet off his other chair and flops down across from him.

“I thought you wanted to be captain.”

“I did. I _do_.” Jim looks at McCoy and he feels like he’s being studied again. God dammit, he’d thought they were past this.

“Does your mom shoot people with arrows, too?”

What? Jim didn’t look that drunk, maybe just a little buzzed. “No,” McCoy says slowly, but doesn’t offer anything more. Not until he knows where the hell this is going.

“So, how does that romantic love thing work?”

Oh. OH. That’s what was wrong. Fuck. McCoy had to be the last person in the world to comfort Jim on his unrequited love. He didn’t even DO requited love, that was more his brother’s thing.

“Same way it always did. Don’t let finding out about me–what I did–change the way you view it. And don’t think on it too hard,” he says, placing a hand on Jim’s shoulder. It’s meant to be comforting but judging from the way Jim stiffens and ducks his head it rather misses the mark. Did he mention he was not the guy for this job?

He pulls his hand back quickly and clears his throat, shifting awkwardly in his seat.

“Did you try just… telling her how you feel?”

Jim’s head snaps up. “What?” There is a moment of confused silence and then “Are we still talking about your mom?”

That surprises a laugh out of McCoy. “Alright, it’s bed time for all good little captains. Come back when you’re sober.”

With that he marches Jim out of his room and into the hall, keeping the smile plastered on his face until his door hisses shut. Jim doesn’t protest, just wishes him a good night and promises (threatens?) to continue this conversation later.

Once Jim is gone the cheerful expression melts off his face and he runs a weary hand through his hair.

Shit.

oOo

It’s two days later when McCoy hears his door chime as he has himself holed up in his office. He calls for them to enter, still buried in files and when he finally looks up he’s surprised to see Jim instead of Chapel.

He quirks an expectant brow and waits.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I gathered that.”

Jim huffs out a breath that’s just a little bit too uncomfortable to be a laugh but it’s better that the solemn man that had been standing there a second ago.

Still, it’s only when Jim lowers himself into the other chair instead of flinging himself down and making himself at home that McCoy’s palms begin to sweat.

“We’ve been doing a lot of this lately,” Jim says conversationally. Small talk, another red flag.

“Sitting? I stood for three hours this morning, I like to mix things up. I’m even considering laying down sometime tonight.” Okay, he’s being a dick but maybe he can stave off whatever potentially mortifying chat the captain thinks it is they need to have.

He knew Jim was taking things too well.

“Look, here’s the thing,” Jim isn’t looking at him. Jim _can’t_ seem to look at him. Though the wall over his left shoulder seems particularly riveting. “When you told me who you¬–shit.” Jim looks at his hands where they are balled into fists in his lap. “When you told me what you did I thought maybe you’d done it, you know, to me,” Jim blurts.

McCoy raises an eyebrow, this isn’t exactly a revelation.

“I didn’t think about it until you told me what you could do, but then, I thought…. I don’t know. I guess I thought it would be okay, because it wasn’t my fault and I kinda let myself think about it. And then I couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it. And then you told me you _didn’t_ do it and I don’t even fucking know anymore, because it didn’t stop when I stopped thinking it was your fault. I _still_ think it’s your fault. I mean… this is not how I imagined this conversation going.” He stops talking to rub his hand roughly over his face.

McCoy just blinks. Forget not planning for the conversation to go like this, he didn’t even know what the fuck they were talking about anymore. “Jim, you have to slow down. I can’t follow when you’re speaking hyperactive chipmunk unless we get Uhura down here to translate.” A pause. “Uhura’s not the problem, is she?”

“What?” Jim looks honestly bewildered by the question. “No, Uhura’s not… what?”

“Well, I don’t know! I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why don’t you start at the beginning–at normal speed–and we’ll see what we can figure out. Now, are you here because of a medical complain of any kind, or can I safetly assume this conversation is off the record?”

Jim nods. “Definitely off the record.”

“Okay. So tell me what’s on your mind, kid.” McCoy leans back and makes himself comfortable. They could be here a while.

“That.”

“I’m sorry?” he asks.

“You call me kid. And I AM a kid! You’re like a million years old and I’m twenty-six! That’s not May/December, that’s Cretaceous/Quaternary! And talk about an imbalance of power, I thought it might be strained with me being your superior officer, but no!” Jim’s really building up steam now, and it’s all McCoy can do to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor. “Because fuck Starfleet ranks, _you’re not even mortal._ You’re a god, dammit, and that’s completely unfair because you’re gonna be young and hot FOR. _EVER._ ”

Jim is leaning forward in his chair, gesticulating wildly, and McCoy can’t find his voice to speak.

“And in case all that wasn’t enough, I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing. I’m stumbling along blind here, trying to figure out what it is exactly that I’m even feeling while you’re sitting pretty, possibly _the_ foremost expert on the subject in… EVER. I have a handful of relationships lasting _weeks_ while you were married for like hundreds of years and were so fucking in love you made her _immortal._

 _Jim seems to notice that McCoy eyes are about to pop out of his head because he takes a deep breath, leans back and calmly offers, “In conclusion, this sucks.”_

 _Before McCoy can even decide where to start, Jim is out of his chair and walking toward the door. “Well, thanks for your time. I’ve got captainy things to do, I’ll let you get back to work, doctor,” and he’s gone._

 _Which would be fine except apparently he lied about the captainy things to do because by the time McCoy gets himself out of his chair and up to the bridge Spock still has the conn and is operating under the impression that Jim is still in Medical, which he definitely isn’t._

 _DAMMIT!_

oOo

 _It doesn’t really take McCoy long to find Jim; he’s in the next place he looks: his quarters._

 _When Jim sees McCoy at his door he steps back and gestures him inside silently. The silence has gotten awkward again, heavy with everything they’re not saying but neither knows where to start._

 _Gods, he’s sick of this._

 _Somehow, McCoy is not surprised that it’s Jim who finds the courage to speak first. “Look, Bones, I’m sorry about that. It was uncalled for and it was unprofessional and I’m done. Let’s just acknowledge that the captain is a crazy person and move on.”_

 _Okay, maybe McCoy was wrong about Jim finding his courage because this sounds a hell of a lot like backtracking and Jim was certainly whistling a different tune half an hour ago in his office. And McCoy had _liked_ that tune, dammit. _

“Jim,” he starts but Jim just holds up a hand.

“Don’t. I know, okay. And I’m sorry. I just needed to let it out and when I need to do that I go to my best friend. Which might have been a little unfortunate given the circumstances but I’ll go to Spock next time or something, okay?”

“Dammit, Jim! I don’t want there to be a next time and I _definitely_ don’t want you to go to Spock if there is. I want you to sit the fuck down and talk to me for a second, not _at_ me.”

Jim complies, sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees and looking at McCoy expectantly. Well, more at the collar of McCoy’s shirt than actually into his eyes but it’s an improvement over staring at the wall behind him.

“Just listen for a second,” McCoy continues, crouching in from of him. He wants to grab Jim’s hands from where they’re clasped in front of his knees, to touch him, to put a hand on his shoulder, but he doesn’t. “I want you to _really_ listen to what I’m about to say to you because I know what I’m talking about, okay.”

Jim nods, his eyes shuttered and blank and the heavy weight that seems to have settled in McCoy’s stomach in sickbay gets a little bit heavier.

“I am a bitter asshole sometimes.” Jim’s face twitches but he stays quiet. “I want you to forget everything I have ever told you about love prior to this last month, okay? Most of it’s complete bullshit anyway and the rest of it’s too harsh by half.”

Jim is still listening and McCoy is honestly a little surprised he’s following instructions so well. Jim generally has problems both with authority and with keeping his mouth shut.

“The thing is,” McCoy continues, “I really loved Jocelyn. Uh, Psyche, actually was her name when we were in Greece. But I did. Even when she didn’t love me anymore, I still loved her. And fuck, Jim, that’s not a good feeling.”

Jim gives a bitter laugh.

“I know you think you know how that feels, Jim. But the thing is, I _do_ love you.” Jim’s head jerks up so fast it’s a wonder he doesn’t injure myself and this time it’s McCoy that looks away.

“I loved my wife, and Jesus, I never wanted that to end but I knew that it needed to. But that doesn’t mean that it _can’t_ last, or that it isn’t worth it while you have it. Because, Jim,” McCoy continues, looking back up at Jim, “it is. It really, really _is_ worth it.”

Even after he stops talking it takes Jim a minute to find his voice. When he finally does it’s soft, hesitant and as unsure as McCoy has ever heard it. “Why did you retire? I never asked.”

“You mean aside from the horrendously messy divorce?”

Jim’s lips quirk. “Yeah. Aside from that.”

“Honestly? I burned myself out. I got so tired of seeing the things that people do in the name of love. It’s horrific, Jim. It’s a perversion of something so good and they just take it and they turn it into something so ugly and I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t stand looking at the world and wondering if I was just making it worse. Wondering if it would be better if love wasn’t in it.“

“Would it be? Better I mean?”

McCoy deflates then and he finally lets his hands slide warm over Jim’s, twining their fingers together. “No.”

Jim squeezes his hand and the stone that’s been sitting in his gut vanishes. “Because _this_? Jim, I could never get tired of this. People do horrible things for love but they also do them for greed, and power, and hate and I’ve realized that people are just kind of assholes.”

Jim laughs, a real laugh this time and McCoy smiles back. Because this? This is what makes it all worth it.

“Hey, Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He doesn’t wait for Jim to answer him, just leans in and presses a warm kiss to his lips, their fingers still tangled together. And then Jim is leaning back, away from McCoy, but his free hand wraps around the back of his neck and the message is pretty clear that McCoy is meant to follow.

He finds himself lying half on top of Jim, one thigh between his legs, their tangled finger pressing into the mattress beside Jim’s head.

Jim’s lips are warm and soft and a little bit slick as they work lazily against his. McCoy sucks one of them gently into his mouth and Jim’s movements suddenly get a lot less languid. The hand on the back of his neck slides into his hair and grips him there, gently forcing his head lower, his mouth more firmly against Jim’s.

Jim curls his leg around McCoy’s, pushing himself against his thigh and untangles their fingers to run a hand up McCoy’s back, under his uniform shirt.

McCoy responds by kissing him back fiercely. Their lips sliding over each other, his teeth pluck gently at Jim’s lower lip and then his tongue is in Jim’s mouth and Jim is pressing more urgently into his thigh, rocking steadily.

He can feel Jim’s erection against his hip and he pulls himself away from Jim’s mouth to kiss down his neck, to the collar of his gold shirt.

“Bones?” Jim pants.

McCoy makes a noise against his jaw.

“God of erotic love, huh?”

“God of erotic love,” McCoy repeats into his neck and his fingers find their way to Jim’s fly.

Jim’s pelvis approves of this course of action, if it’s insistent rocking is any indication.

“You said you were gonna kiss me, not fuck me,” Jim laughs.

McCoy freezes where he has pushed himself down Jim’s body, his face a foot from his tented uniform slacks, his hands still at the–now unbuttoned–fly. “Wasn’t planning on fucking you, to be honest.”

Jim makes a disappointed noise and thrusts against McCoy’s hand again.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to fuck you. But Jesus, Jim, do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve been fucked? I’ll give you a hint, it’s a really long time.”

Jim’s cock twitches in his pants and his breathing speeds up. “Oh, God. Bones,” his name is almost a whine on Jim’s lips and he can’t take _talking_ about this anymore. His hand snakes into Jim’s pants and comes back out with a prize.

He’s fully hard now. They both are, and right now the only thing McCoy wants more than to rock into the mattress is to have Jim’s cock in his mouth. No reason he can’t do both, he’s an excellent multi-tasker.

He quickly releases himself from the confines of his own slacks and gives himself a few quick strokes before returning his hands to Jim’s hot skin

Jim’s low moan when McCoy takes him into his mouth is the most erotic noise he’s heard in a very long time and his cock knows it. He sucks Jim in and hollows his cheeks, sucking and working his tongue over the head, just hoping to hear that noise again.

When one hand works the base of Jim’s cock and the other cups his balls gently, he gets his wish. This time the sound is recognizably his name and he thrusts hard against the bed.

“Fuck, Bones. Oh fuck. I knew you had a great mouth but Jesus, fuck, _ohhhh._ ”

Jim’s head presses back into the bed so hard his shoulders actually leave the mattress and McCoy give one last long pull before he lets him go.

“No, don’t stop.” Jim’s hips stutter uselessly into the air. When his head pops up to glare down at McCoy his hair is such a hopeless wreck McCoy doesn’t even bother to hide his laughter.

He climbs up Jim’s body and presses his lips back to his mouth, relishing the slide of Jim’s wet dick against his own. “Gotta stop, darlin’, or you’re not going to be any use in fucking me, are you?”

Jim mumbles incoherently into the bottom of his jaw, where he is currently scraping his teeth gently against the stubble there.

“God, I want to fuck you so badly,” Jim mutters into McCoy’s neck. “I want to, God, I want to feel you. Bones.” Jim is barely even making sense anymore. Why that makes McCoy harder, he’s not sure.

“Where is it?” he asks. But Jim’s thinking on the same wavelength apparently.

“Bathroom drawer,” he pants.

McCoy glances at the bathroom door and back to Jim with a look that clearly says _you’ve got to be kidding me._

“Don’t give me that look. It’s the only place I’ve needed it lately.”

McCoy heaves himself off the bed with a grunt and walks the short distance to the bathroom. It takes a bit of rummaging but eventually he finds not only lube, but also condoms. Though he doesn’t even want to know why those need to be in the bathroom.

He walks back into the bedroom, stripping off his shirt as he goes, and what he finds when he gets there stops him dead in his tracks. Jim has taken the opportunity to not only remove his shirt, but also every other blessed stitch of clothing on his body.

He’s lying on his back on the bed, eyes closed, mouth open, with one hand lazily working over his cock. When he strokes up the shaft and rubs over the head, his soft _unh_ is enough for McCoy to snap his mouth shut and unstick himself from his spot on the floor.

“Dammit, Jim! You couldn’t even wait for me to get back?”

Jim cracks an eye but doesn’t stop. “Bones, you have no fucking idea how turned on I am right now. You can’t give a guy head and leave the room before he comes and expect him to just lie there.”

“I can and I do and that’s something I’ll teach you all about another time. Right now I just want you to fuck me.”

Jim’s hand stops to snatch the lube and condom from McCoy’s hand. “Get on the bed.”

McCoy shucks his own clothes and complies, climbing onto the mattress, intent on climbing over Jim when a hand on his hp stops him. Jim pulls himself into sitting position and runs a hand over McCoy’s back, over his ass and down the backs of his thighs, pulling his legs farther apart until he is on his hands and knees, legs spread wide.

Jim kneels behind him and slightly to his left, just where he can’t see him without craning his neck. He hears the snap of the lube and the wet sound of it hitting Jim’s hand but the cold contact on his ass still makes him flinch.

“Relax, Bones. Just relax.”

“It’s fucking cold,” he grumbles half-heartedly. The gentle pressure of Jim’s fingers on his hole is making it difficult to work up a decent grump. Instead he just rocks back against the fingers, hoping Jim will get the message.

Jim ignores him. His fingers continue to stroke down the cleft of his ass, over and around his hole, down to his balls and then back up to his ass. McCoy let’s his arms fold below him and he settles on his elbows, ass in the air.

Jim pushes two fingers into him then, slowly but it’s been a while and his groan comes all the way up from his toes. McCoy pushes back against the fingers, urging them deeper and Jim obliges him, sliding them inside past the first knuckle, then the second.

He strokes in and out of McCoy, pulling soft needy sounds from his throat before pulling out completely.

McCoy hears the click of the lube again and then the pressure of the fingers is back. This time three blunt fingers press at him and McCoy feels the gentle stretch as Jim pushes them inside, rubbing them firmly against the inside of his ass.

Jim continues to pump his fingers into McCoy, working them deeper until they’re as deep as they’ll go. McCoy is sweating, his head resting on his crossed forearms and he thrusts back against the fingers.

“Jim, _uh, uh, oh fuck,_ Jim. I’m good. I’m ready.”

Jim doesn’t say anything so McCoy glances over his shoulder as he feels the fingers pull out. Jim’s pupils are blown, sweat is beading on his face and chest and he’s breathing harder than that workout justifies. His cock is rock hard, bobbing gently against his belly as he reaches for the lube and the condom.

Jim slicks himself up and uses one hand to pull McCoy’s cheeks apart and the other to guide himself to the cleft of his ass. McCoy puts his head back down as he feels the blunt pressure of Jim against him.

The pressure grows as Jim pushes into him and then he feels the sudden shift as he opens up and Jim slides inside. Oh, Jesus.

Jim rolls his hips gently and glides deeper into him. Jim runs one finger down the crack of McCoy ass to the red flesh stretched around him and McCoy bucks back against him, causing him to sink deeper. It pulls almost identical groans out of both of them and Jim wraps his fingers firmly around McCoy’s hips and _pushes._

McCoy’s legs tremble slightly as Jim presses into him, panting at the pressing fullness he feels once Jim in fully seated.

“Jim, your dick did not look that big when I was blowing you.”

“I’ll take that,” Jim says with pulling out of McCoy. “As a,” pushing back in. “Compliment,” he finishes with a snap of his hips.

He sets up a quick pace, already too far gone to worry about taking things slow and in a couple of minutes McCoy has lost the power of coherent speech. Instead he’s uttering soft words and nonsense phrases. “Yes.” “Please.” “Fuck, Jim. So, Jesus, fucking me.” He doesn’t even know what that last one is supposed to mean.

McCoy’s cock is bobbing heavily, slapping against his stomach each time Jim thrusts into him and immortal or not, if it doesn’t get any attention he thinks he may die.

“Jim, please. Touch me.”

“I _am_ touching you.” Jim thrusts harder into his ass and McCoy fucking _keens._ Nevertheless, Jim does reach around him and enclose his cock in his hot grip.

He squeezes and strokes in time to his frenetic thrusts. He rubs over the head, smearing oily precum over his hand and goes back to his long strokes.

McCoy comes hard. His whole body stiffens, he can feel himself tense around Jim and he presses his forehead hard against his crossed arms as he spurts over Jim’s hand. His first thought, once he can think again, is that he’s incredibly glad they’re on Jim’s bed and not his own.

Jim is still slamming into his body but as McCoy tightens around him his thrusts grow erratic and his fingers dig deeper into McCoy’s hips.

Until now McCoy has been surprised at how quiet Jim is during sex but he yells as he empties himself into McCoy.

They’re both spent and McCoy lets his legs slide out from under him, collapsing to the bed. Jim follows him down, landing half draped over him and they lay in a tangled sweaty heap.

The only sound in the room is their heavy panting for several minutes, until Jim rolls onto his side. McCoy turns his head to look him in the eye and Jim leans in for a gentle kiss.

“I love you,” he murmurs against McCoy’s lips. “I didn’t say it before, but I do.”

“I know,” McCoy smiles sleepily, his eyes drifting closed. “I love you, too.”

 

end


End file.
